


Calore

by rukafais



Series: an endless song [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 15:51:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16579538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rukafais/pseuds/rukafais
Summary: meaning: “Warmth; so con calore, warmly.”“You sell yourself short, my dear musician. How could I possibly perform without an accompanist? My act would be terribly lacking.”He smiles in that casual, crooked way he never does on the stage, and Brumm’s heart skips a beat when it should not, and the musician thinks:oh no.





	Calore

He’s seen the Troupe Master attract all kinds of adoration, all sorts of affection; he has a magnetism, a charisma that is all his own and not tinged by the hypnotic flame that burns within him. He stokes that fire within the audience’s hearts with dance and song, performances and showmanship and smooth words.

Always at a distance, always in the spotlight - wonderful and untouchable, _unattainable._

Brumm stands and accompanies him and always, always, before he begins, he feels self-conscious and out of place - and then his master looks back at him and smiles and inclines his head in the familiar gesture that means _the stage is yours_ and all that anxiety and nervousness tangled up inside melts away.

Everything becomes so simple, in those moments; all he has to do is _play_ , and his music soars.

He doesn’t know for certain that it’s what he thinks it is. It could easily be fascination, that same adoration he sees mirrored in the faces of the audience every time the Troupe Master performs. There is no denying that his master’s acts are breathtaking and beautiful.

(He tries not to call it what he thinks it is, because that would open it to something far vaster and more terrifying and something he has no experience with at all.

He tries not to even think the word, because that would mean-

He doesn’t know what it would mean.

But he knows what he would _want_ , and that - that is unattainable.)

 

* * *

 

“Well, _I_ think,” Divine says, completely unprompted, “that you’re hiding your feelings very badly.”

Brumm groans. The accordion lets out a strangled sound as he stops playing. “...Didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Oh, it’s too bad, lovely, because I’m going to give it anyway,” she says blithely with her usual tact and subtlety, which is none at all. “You’re lucky Grimm is so busy all the time, or he’d notice.”

“...There is nothing to notice. Mrmm.”

“Oh, _really!_ You watch him all the time, you hang on his every word, and it’s nothing?”

“I am the musician,” he protests, but he knows it’s a weak excuse. “I have...to watch him on the stage.” He doesn’t say _his_ musician or _his_ accompanist, even if it’s a fact, even if it’s true, because even that -

Even that makes his heart jump. Causes a terribly warm feeling to rise in his chest. He doesn’t want it to happen, and yet it does, without his say so.

He doesn’t know what to _do_.

Divine laughs and grins and shows her fangs in that way that’s just a little too much. “It’s more! So much more than that.” She leans close and Brumm leans back because Divine always gets a little too enthusiastic about her role as the Troupe’s guardian, and even if she wouldn’t take a bite out of him it’s still...discomforting.

Brumm has a concept of personal space. Divine seems to choose when it applies to her. She leans just a little closer to get on his nerves, and the musician makes a disgruntled sound that’s half an exhale.

“You love him, just like the rest of us do,” she says, and her tone is strangely serious. “But _differently_ to how the rest of us do. You might as well accept it.”

He tries to come up with a reply, anything to refute her words, but the words die before they can be said; they strangle him into a different kind of silence. He has never been one for words, except when it mattered, and because he only says things when it matters he dislikes dishonesty.

He cannot find the words to deny what she’s said. Divine’s expression says _I told you so_ , and he growls and turns away.

(It can’t be love, because if it is love, then he would want it to be reciprocated. If it is love, he would be trying to grasp at something he cannot and should not desire, would not be worthy of having.

He can barely stand at Grimm’s side as his musician. He needs that cue from him, that spell cast (there is no magic in it but to have that burden lifted for a time is magic in itself) to even forget his nervousness and play, the only thing he is meant to do here.

Doesn’t his master deserve better?)

 

* * *

 

“What a fascinating sound. Are you composing something new, my friend?”

For once, the explosion of Grimm’s teleportation doesn’t alert him to his master’s presence. His appearance is simply a matter of natural stealth, rather than that flashy, inherent ability.

(He forces himself not to read into it.)

He can feel Grimm’s eyes on him; curious and waiting for an answer.

“Mrmm. It is nothing special,” he says eventually.

“Really? I thought it sounded wonderful.”

Brumm chances a sideways glance at what he immediately classifies as the wrong moment, because his master is looking right at him with an inquisitive stare and a languid smile that makes his heart shudder in his chest, and then he looks back down at his instrument.

(Grimm’s expression changes in that split second of eye contact, clearly amused to have caught him looking, and that just causes - _all kinds of feelings that he doesn’t want to deal with right now_.)

He hears him move, which is unusual. Normally, if he enjoyed something the musician played enough to say so, he’d simply request it and Brumm would oblige.

(His master could ask anything of him and he would do it, because - because that is how it is, isn’t it? It’s what’s expected of him, he’s always told himself, except Grimm always offers _choice_ and would never force him into anything and

he has always been ready to do anything his master asked, he realises.)

“If you don’t feel like playing, perhaps I should take over?” His master’s voice is inquisitive, curious, rather than smooth as it usually is; a sort of vulnerability not present in his performances. (Something only he gets to see, in this moment, and _he’s stopping that train of thought **right now**_.) “You’ve been practicing all day, after all. I wouldn’t want to tire you out.”

Before he can say anything, his master is practically draped over him, head on his shoulder and hands resting lightly on his instrument, and it’s far warmer than it has any right to be, and Brumm is almost certain that Grimm can hear his heart pounding and will ask about it at any second.

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he muses, right next to his ear. “Would you do me the favour of showing me where I should put my hands?”

He’s _fairly certain_ that wasn’t meant to sound as suggestive as it was. (He can feel that jagged, crooked smile, that casual indication of positive interest and he’s _fairly almost certain._ )

He finally finds his words, finally finds some courage to reply instead of sit there silently and try not to think about how close together they are. But he can focus on his instrument, so it’s fine, isn’t it? It’s fine.

Grimm is leaning against him and asking him to teach him to play and he’s almost certain he’s going to die of either embarrassment or whatever other feeling is causing his heart to hammer in his chest and

everything is just

_fine._

“Mrmm. Certainly, Master.”

His master follows his instructions to the letter, but, well, it’s not an easy instrument to play, let alone master. The first sounds he makes are wheezing, creaky noises that are barely notes, and --

Grimm just laughs and says _this is much harder than you make it look!_ and tries again. Despite the strangled, terrible noises that come from the accordion, his hands and movements are always gentle, and Brumm is almost...surprised.

It’s not something he ever sees in performances, after all. It’s just...between the two of them. Just for--

He stops that train of thought before it can reach its inevitable conclusion and focuses on something else, something far easier to comprehend, like teaching his master how to make actual music with his finicky instrument and not awful wheezing sounds.

It goes better than he would have thought, in the end. Grimm’s playing is, at the very least, passable by the time they finish (though what time it is or how long it took, he wouldn’t be able to tell, distracted as he was). His master straightens up and stretches a little and thanks him for the lesson, and he thinks that’s it, just a fleeting impulse, a curiosity-

“You’re very different when you’re focused like this, my dear musician,” Grimm says with a crooked little smile that Brumm has only ever seen once before, the smile that made his heart skip a beat not so long ago. “I enjoyed seeing that side of you. Perhaps, time permitting, you’ll allow me to see it more.”

His master leaves before he has time to respond (as if there would be any time long enough for him to respond!) and give a coherent answer, and he

(he thinks _well, if I was going to expire from embarrassment, now would be the time_ )

he’s _almost certain_ Grimm didn’t mean that the way it came out.

Almost certain.

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of ??? because I did a series format for a previous pairing I liked and it was fun, so I see no reason to not use the format again.
> 
> Also Grimm, you are going to kill your musician with embarrassment, you know


End file.
